


Forfeit

by musicmillennia



Series: The Ward Series [7]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: Forfeit (adj.): lost or surrendered as a penalty for wrongdoing or neglect.(When you’re treated like a piece of meat long enough, you start to become it.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prouvairablehulk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/gifts).



It’d been building for a long time. Probably since Mick woke to a burning Vanishing Point.

He’d stared at that fire with the same numb awe he’d given to his childhood home, and something got lost as it did then. This time the piece was just bigger. A lot bigger.

He does know when he’d first become aware of it. Sure, he knew he’d been taking more risks lately, knew where he was trying to go, that his body was filled with peace when he was certain he was about to die. But apparently his brain didn’t really get the memo.

After Skirt and the aliens, there’s no break in 2016. Maybe that’s what really clinches it—the no vacation rule. Over and over, nonstop, Mick has been getting the dumb muscle treatment, and his brain’s so used to getting a point pounded into it by now that it just…accepts it after a point.

So there’s no break, and they’re headed off to 1927 Chicago.

Amaya makes it not so bad. She can’t be blamed for thinking of Mick the way she does with the 40’s upbringing. Though. Maybe not so much now, since she’s been around a while and not even Gideon’s told her otherwise. Still not her fault. But she tries to be his friend, and maybe that’s what carries Mick Rory to the next mission.

He just wishes he could see Len. Fuck, Len. Snart’d come strutting in and fix Mick up just by standing there and makin’ his puns and plans.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Over and over, nonstop, nonstop.

After Chicago, it’s off to the age of knights and castles. This aberration doesn’t have a speedster involved, which makes the job easier, but.

But.

They’re going over plans on how they’ll get to the future tech hidden in dusty stone. Mick decides to just go for it. He needs to see something burn like an insatiable itch in his fingers, knows it’d be a breath of fresh air, but he doesn’t expect a serious answer. He’s got a tough guy smirk waitin’ and everything.

“I say we burn the damn thing to a crisp,” he says.

It’s Stein who says it. More like yells it, really.

“Mr. Rory, will you just for once be silent so we can think?”

Be silent. _Be silent. B_ e s _il_ en _t_. B _e sil_ e _n_ t.

When Mick comes back to himself, he’s standing in parade rest in the corner and a plan’s been laid out.

He escapes to his room. Nobody says anything.

Mick teeter totters to his armchair and sits.

It’s not the words themselves. It’s the voice. That voice. The _command_ of “be silent” rather than a simple request. The Time Masters never had any other way of talking, at least not with…with Mick.

Swallowing, Mick goes to his messy dresser and digs to the bottom of his shirts. No one ever comes in here longer than a few minutes except him, so he can keep them in an open position despite their importance: a notepad and a black Sharpie.

Sitting back down, Mick flips and flips and flips until he gets to a new page. He starts writing.

_My name is Mick Rory. I am Mick Rory. My name is Mick Rory. I am Mick Rory._

He mutters the words as he scribbles them. He fills up two pages and his breathing’s slowing down.

Then Stein’s voice comes back.

Mick blinks and looks back at what he’s written.

 _My name is Mick Roronos. My name is MiCk Ronos name is Chrosory my name is my name is my name is_ —

Mick drops the page and kicks it away.

A drink. He needs a drink. And a lighter! Mick Rory is known for fire. If he can just get his hands on some, he’ll feel like his old self again. He’ll talk to Len too. They’ve been back on track lately, but on the outs or not, Len’s always been able to—to.

Right.

 

Relapsing. It’s easy to do. More than, when it has to do with Time Master training.

Amaya’s a friend, but she’s no tether. When it comes down to it, Mick likes her and that’s all. He doesn’t trust that too much either. He’d liked Sara, admired her, and now she wants to talk to him as much as anyone else on the team.

No, his tether’s blown himself up. Can never just let Mick go in peace, can he?

Well, Mick’ll just have to do it for him.

Sure, he’ll keep breathing. That’s what Snart wanted, isn’t it? But he doesn’t have to think about it.

After the mission, after a shower, after he’s finally away from the team, Mick Rory decides it’s time to make peace.

He lies down and closes his eyes.

In his head there’s a galaxy he likes to pretend is a molehill. Every star and planet has an eye, fixed on Mick’s every movement, just waiting for him to trip into one of its black holes. Now that he has, the eyes are practically salivating, pupils opening to reveal hungry electric green teeth.

Mick looks up at the countless eyes. He’s terrified, always is when he’s here. But above all that, he’s just. Tired.

No, not just that. Resigned, maybe. Yeah.

“That last person who wanted me is dead,” he tells the galaxy.

The eyes roll in a predator’s curiosity.

“Time Masters are gone.”

The galaxy roils. It knows very well and does not wish to be reminded.

“But there’s still a chain of command.”

…oh?

Mick hangs his head. “They want a weapon. And I—” he grits his teeth. “I don’t wanna be here.”

The eyes gather into a mass of dark space. Mick makes himself watch.

“Even Blondie—the Captain,” he amends, as it’s better to use rank with it—no. With _him_. “She looks at me like they looked at you. Though,” he pauses, thinking about the self-righteous pride in the Time Masters’ faces, the satisfaction, “maybe not all the way. But she wants to.”

A helmet, cold and blank, stares eye-level with Mick.

“Whole team wants to.”

Mick stiffens as his gauntlets clench on his arms. His way of an intimate greeting.

Chronos doesn’t hate himself. He simply has no sense of self.

Mick finally gives that to him. “A whole team of geniuses can’t be wrong, see. Ch…” he forces himself to take a breath. “Chronos.”

Chronos straightens. His grip tightens on Mick.

“If they’re not wrong, then you’re who I am. Who I’m supposed to be.”

The helmet slowly tilts.

A filtered machine asks, “What of Leonard Snart?”

Mick sucks in another breath. Although his subconscious tries to make it difficult, he takes a step closer, shoving away his pathetic excuse of survival instincts.

“I told you,” he says, “the last person who wanted me is dead. Oculus is a fixed point, which means his death can’t be changed. You— _we_ can see that better than anyone.”

Chronos inclines his head. “Then we may become _me_.”

Mick shrugs. “Guess that’s the way to put it.”

Like a starving wolf, Chronos digs his claws into Mick’s ribs and tears them apart.

“Chain of command,” Mick recites numbly, “Sara Lance is Captain. The rest of the team’s on even footing with each other. We are their subordinate.”

Chronos snarls with pleasure and crawls into his flesh.

His past is finally put to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome any and all add-ons to this, so long as credit is given, of course.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
